


The First Step

by braille_upon_my_skin



Category: High School Musical (Movies)
Genre: M/M, There's some very, Troy Bolton deserved better., very minor Chad/Taylor and Jason/Martha.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 16:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12752235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braille_upon_my_skin/pseuds/braille_upon_my_skin
Summary: "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." Troy Bolton just hasn't quite figured out what that first step is, yet.An alternate take on the senior prom in HSM3.





	The First Step

**Author's Note:**

> This is the polished and refined version of a story I originally posted to Fanfiction.net in 2012. The way the senior prom was handled in the third movie, particularly in regards to Troy, still enrages me nearly a decade later. If Peter Barsocchini really wanted to prove to viewers that Gabriella "loved" Troy, and Troy and Gabriella's relationship was "meant to be" and "even a thousand miles" couldn't keep them apart, Gabriella should have followed through on their plan, and flew in to attend the prom with Troy. 
> 
> Relationships are two way streets, and it's beyond exasperating that Troy was, consistently, the only one putting effort into making his and Gabriella's relationship work. So… here's a fix-it fic where Troy gets some semblance of the so much better that he deserved. 
> 
> More original content is on the way, I promise, I just wanted to put some more Troy/Ryan works on this website and into the world.

_"I don't plan on missing my prom."_

 

Troy Bolton stands before the mirror in his family's bathroom. He watches his reflection attentively as he slides the knot of his tie up to its designated spot under the collar of his clean, pressed, white dress shirt. After putting on his black blazer, he grabs the keys to his pickup and sneaks out of the house.

He expresses gratitude under his breath that there were no flashing cameras and insistent parents to hold him up. _I'm running late, as it is_ , he tells himself,  jamming the key into the ignition with unsteady hands.

Gabriella's voice echoes in his head. _"I can't be a little adult right now, Troy. I'm hoping you understand that."_

He _does_ understand. He understands very well that, if his girlfriend can't be a "little adult", he'll simply have to be grown up enough for the both of them.

Troy turns the key and clenches the steering wheel. "Come on **…** come on," he breathes. A sigh of relief escapes him as the worn-out engine of the vehicle splutters to life.

Now, it's just a matter of hoping that the rusted old truck will be able to get him to his destination without breaking down.

Once he places his boutonniere- a word that he considers a few syllables too long for describing what is basically a flower, but who is he to criticize?- in the hole in his lapel, Troy checks his hair in the dashboard mirror, fastens his seatbelt, and takes a deep breath.

He'd told Chad that he wasn't missing prom.

Troy Bolton likes to think of himself as a man of his word.

Shifting the gear into reverse, Troy hopes that he won't come to regret his decision. He glances out the mirrors, and, assured that the road is clear of incoming cars in both directions, pulls out of the driveway, his stomach knotted like a pretzel and his heart thundering. His mind races in time with his pulse, and Troy thinks to to himself with a dry, humorless laugh, _I hope I don't forget the dance moves she taught me._

 

\----------------------------------------

 

The doors to the East High gymnasium open. Heads turn as the person most people had likely given up on putting in an appearance makes his way through the crowd.

Troy swallows. The stares and whispers aren't exactly doing anything to help his heart-rate. Before his mind can blank under the weight of them, he slaps on his easy, "star athlete" smile, and nods a greeting. "Hi, guys."

"Hoops!"

Troy turns to spot Chad's signature head of bushy curls headed his way. "Hey!" He calls, raising his arm in a wave.

The crowd of their, for the most part, well-dressed classmates parts, allowing Chad and Taylor through.

"You made it!" Chad says with a grin.

"Some of us were convinced you weren't going to show up," Taylor adds, so quietly, Troy half-believes that she's talking to herself. With a sidelong glance at him, she says, "Chad told me about Gabriella."

"Oh. Yeah." Doing his best to ignore the wrenching ache in his chest that Gabriella's name seems to summon, Troy continues to force a smile, not wanting to ruin anyone else's night. He knows that Taylor is trying, in her own way, to show him some consideration- which is no easy task for her, if the vaguely pained look on her face is anything to go by. The least he can do is humor her.

Chad reaches over, jostling Troy's shoulder in a friendly manner. "But enough of that. Right, man? You're here to have a good time!"

"Yeah." Troy makes himself nod, like he knows he's supposed to. He is, he tells himself. He's here to take advantage of one of the last events he'll attend with all of his classmates- as a Wildcat.

The absence of one person, regardless of how _gaping_ that absence is, won't have any effect on that.

He _has_ to believe that.

"So, why don't you get some punch," Chad nods vaguely toward a table, "find a girl-"

_Girl?_ Troy's stomach flips. He feels the carefully constructed facade slipping, his eyes stretching wide and the upturned corners of his mouth falling into the beginnings of a frown. Or, a _grimace_.

"-And-" Whatever else Chad means to say is lost as the DJ for the dance, a man in his early twenties, cuts him off.

"East High Seniors!"

People at last pull their eyes off of Troy, and some cheers go up in response to the call.

"We have a request from one of your own," the DJ goes on, his voice lively. "So grab your favorite guy or girl, and snuggle in close while we **…** " He pauses to switch tracks, then finishes with a teasing, almost provocative tone, " **…** Slow things down."

Troy shuffles his feet, his gaze falling to the floor as Colbie Caillat's voice softly asks through the set of speakers, "Will you count me in?"

Chad and Taylor trade a look. Chad opens his mouth, ready to explain something that needs no explanation.

"Go ahead, man. You came here to dance, right?" Troy waves the pair off, grinning.

"Yeah," Chad scoffs, giving a half-hearted roll of his eyes. This puts him on the receiving end of an elbow jab from an unimpressed Taylor. He makes up for it by murmuring a surprisingly sincere apology.

Taylor takes a moment, but accepts the apology and permits Chad to steer her into the area where the rest of the senior class twirls about the floor in pairs.

"I better see you dancing before the end of the night, Bolton!" Chad calls over his shoulder.

"You got it, man!" Troy replies with much more enthusiasm than he honestly has. Momentarily relieved of keeping up the facade, he sighs, then skirts the perimeter of the dance floor to find somewhere to sit. Along the way, he spots Jason and Martha.

The latter looks slightly bored with the slow tempo of the song, while Jason appears to be too busy studying the placement of his own feet to look up.

Troy also catches sight of a bowler hat, black sequined tie that shimmers under the twinkling lights, and dressy beige suit that can only belong to one person.

His heart flutters as the blue eyes of Ryan Evans lock with his own. Just like they did the day before, during rehearsals for the spring musical.

Surprise flashes across Ryan's fair face for an instant, before it's replaced by a warm, giddy smile. He gives Kelsi, his _date_ , Troy realizes with a pang in his chest, an expert twirl as the pair spins in slow, smooth circles across the floor. When his face comes back into view, Ryan mouths, "Hey."

"Hey," Troy mouths in return. Feeling strangely off-kilter, he drops into the nearest empty chair. He tries his best to keep his gaze lowered, praying not to draw any more attention to himself. He can't help, however, catching glimpses of beige and apricot in his peripheral.

His heart weirdly heavy, he redirects his focus from Ryan and Kelsi's elegant waltz, to picking lint off of his black dress slacks. _Fine way for "The Wildcat Superstar" to spend his senior prom_ , he muses drily.

Images of sweet-smelling, dark waves of hair, liquid brown eyes, and shimmering pink lips set against olive skin flood his mind. Gabriella's girlish voice declaring, _insisting_ , _"I need to stay right where I am"_ , echoes through every section of his brain. And, with them, the apparition of Ryan reaching for him, his eyes swimming with questions and concern.

It's all Troy can do to keep his body planted in the chair.

About halfway through the rather repetitive, "Bubbly", a familiar, distinctly female voice choking out, "Oh god **…**! I'm so sorry!", becomes discernible.

Troy looks up, alarmed, just in time to see Kelsi dodging around bodies as she dashes off, her hands covering her face.

_What the hell…?!_ Instinctively, Troy jumps to his feet. He cranes his neck, leaning to either side as his eyes seek out Ryan. He manages to get a glimpse of a black hat perched on a head of blond hair, and then the stricken expression on Ryan's soft, fair face, before the murmurs and whispers start up again.

A gob-smacked Chad looks at the male half of the Evans twins with a hint of a scowl pulling at his eyebrows. He shakes his head, disapproving.

Taylor's eyes are stretched wide, her hand coming up to cover her open mouth.

 Taking this in, Ryan swallows. His face blanches.

Before Troy can make a move toward him, ask if Ryan is okay, get his side of the story, Ryan takes off, dodging around bodies, himself, as he heads out the double doors on Kelsi's heels.

It takes Troy but a moment to process everything that just happened. Then, irritation heats his insides as the gossiping continues, speculative whispers and murmurs crescendoing all around him. _This is none of their business_ , he thinks. _They don't even_ care _about Ryan, or Kelsi._

He looks on as Martha crosses to Taylor, confusion painted on her face, and Taylor gestures to the doors, words flying rapidly from her lips. He can just make out bits and pieces: "Ryan asked her **…** We just assumed that **…** "

In an instant, Troy's mind is made. He knows exactly what his next course of action will be.

 

\---------------------------------

 

"Kelsi? It's okay. I **…** I overreacted. You don't have to stay in there all night. Come on out, please?"

Troy peers around the corner to find Ryan standing in front of the door to the women's restroom.

His light voice is lowered, his tone almost soothing despite the audible tremors underlining each word.

"Please, just go away **…**!" Kelsi exclaims, her voice breaking into something that Troy is discomfortingly familiar with- a sob.

His heart gives another painful lurch.

Heaving a sigh, Ryan respects Kelsi's wishes. He steps away from the restroom door and stands there, as if carved from stone. Every trace of lively- _pretty_ \- color has drained from his face. The only sign of life to be found is the just visible quivering of his lower lip.

The empty hallway dwarfs Ryan, making him appear small and heartbreakingly vulnerable; a sharp contrast to his larger than life stage presence.

_No_ , a voice in Troy's head amends. **_Persona_** _. He has one, too._

And, just like that, Troy is torn.

When Gabriella accepted the early enrollment at Stanford University through its Freshman Honors Program, which he had encouraged her to do, the distance separating them had taken its toll on him. He became listless, distracted, messing up the choreography in the musical, and affecting the overall spirit and motivation of the rest of the cast. Despite this, Ryan, the show's choreographer, and Kelsi, the composer, loyally stood by him, offering him sympathetic glances, shoulder pats, and hugs.

It would have been well within their rights to be furious with him, or at the very least, extremely frustrated.

Instead, they were sitting with him at lunch, Ryan even offering to buy him a cookie, if the treat would help to pull him out of his funk. 

As Ryan slumps against the wall outside the restroom, Troy wishes that he possessed the ability to comfort both of his friends at the same time.

But, he is more than aware of his limitations.

As he steps forward, the memory of blue eyes widening, softening, as they draw closer, overrides his brain. His heart responds in kind, aching with pangs that reverberate in his chest cavity. He can practically taste Ryan's uniquely pleasant-smelling cologne on the tip of his tongue. "Anything I can do to help?" He ventures.

Ryan's head jerks up. The light behind his eyes is rekindled as they land on Troy, and life begins to color his face.

That heavy-heart feeling returns. Troy's hands find their way into the pockets of his dress pants, and he kicks his foot forward aimlessly. "Prom's not going so well, huh?"

A humorless laugh leaves Ryan's mouth. "That **…** would be quite the understatement." He tries a slight smile, and Troy has to applaud him for the valiant attempt, and nods toward a spot on the floor beside him.

Taking the hint, Troy walks over and slowly drops down next to Ryan, letting his shoulder touch the smaller boy's.

"How are things on your end?" Ryan inquires. His eyes flit over Troy's face, concern tugging at his brow-line as if he wants to be certain that he hasn't struck a nerve.

It's Troy's turn to laugh without any humor behind it. "Gabriella called me two days ago. As you can probably tell, she **…** couldn't make it."

"Why is that?"

A lump rises, tightening Troy's throat. The feelings of disappointment, of heartache, of self-loathing, all come rushing back. He shrugs lamely, blinking before tears can sting his eyes. His voice falls to a near whisper. "I guess coming back here for prom, the musical, and graduation would have hurt her too much."

Ryan's brows furrow, his gaze soft, sympathetic, thoughtful. He chews the inside of his mouth in consideration for a moment. "Troy."

"Yeah?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but **…** Calling you to say that? That sounds pretty selfish."

Troy hopes that his mouth hasn't dropped open in astonishment. Gabriella? _Selfish_? Those two words and the ideas they contain simply refuse to interconnect in his mind.

"She couldn't have been entirely oblivious to how upset you've been these past two weeks, right?" Ryan clarifies in a dulcet tone. His eyes roam over Troy's face, once more, faint desperation shining in them, like he _needs_ Troy to understand something.

It hits Troy, then, in the manner that a sudden lightning bolt flashes, illuminating a dark sky. His heart sinks into the bowels of his stomach.

Gabriella _knew_ , she had known, even before she left, that he was clinging to the hope that they wouldn't let the distance ruin their plans for the prom and keep them apart.

Yet **…**

"She made it all about _her_ feelings." Once again, a lump tightens Troy's throat. He feels stupid, as if he _should_ have said, or done something, but lost his chance.  "She made it all about her, and how she couldn't be a 'little adult', and **…** how it **…** " His eyes stray to Ryan's, and are greeted with a sadness brimming in those depths of cornflower blue that mirrors the one wrenching his core. "She **…** " Troy croaks, the words tumbling out and tears misting his eyes before he can bite at the inside of his cheek to stop them. "Said she _loved_ me. But, needed to stay where she was." Swallowing hard to force back an outpouring of emotion before the dam bursts, he feels his stomach wrench with a sudden realization.

When he followed Ryan, it wasn't to digress from Ryan's own conflict and cause him further distress.

Here he goes, making everything about himself.

A wave of self-loathing washes over him and he smacks his head against the wall, wishing the contact hurt more than a dull ache. "I'm sorry, I--"

"Troy, you…" Ryan starts, only to be likewise cut off as the door to the women's restroom opens.

Simultaneously, both Ryan and Troy turn to find Kelsi emerging. She stands before them, her eyes wide. Her light brown curls have been pulled up and styled into a bun, and she's ditched her glasses in favor of contacts, for the occasion.

The fact that she's clearly done so much to pretty herself up worsens the effect of seeing the smears of runny mascara and evident red splotches staining her face.

"You really came!" She gasps.

Sheepish, Troy nods. "Yeah." He spares a glance at Ryan and, together, they rise to their feet, Ryan adjusting his blazer, and Troy brushing off his dress pants.

Kelsi peers behind them, her gaze expectant, and, knowing exactly who she's looking for, Troy feels his stomach drop.

He doesn't know if he can do this, again; if he can talk about Gabriella without his heart tearing in two.

He's preparing to lower his head shamefully, admit defeat, when Ryan's light voice answers easily, "Gabriella had other plans, this evening."

"Oh," Kelsi replies simply, but, Troy would have to be deaf to miss the disappointment underlining the one-word response.

"But… Who says we can't make this a night to remember without her?"

Kelsi's posture is slumped, her expression still downcast as she absently traces  the flowers sewn into the ruffles of her skirt.

Troy, however, has been thrown a life-raft, and he drifts toward it, the water gradually receding from his nose, mouth, and ears. 

"All of our friends are waiting in the gym," Ryan goes on, his voice adopting the tone that persuaded Troy to change his mind on a dime and agree to sing with Sharpay after resolving not to, during the summer. "And, Martha put too much work into the decor for it to go unappreciated."

Troy glances up, and his heart somersaults as his eyes meet Ryan's and find a plea shimmering in a sea of sky blue.

Then, Ryan redirects his gaze to Kelsi, who seems to surrender to it as easily as Troy does. "What do you guys say? Is Gabriella's absence, and my stupid mistake, really worth a ruined night?"

With a look at Kelsi, Troy lets himself latch on to the life-preserver. "No way," he says, his voice astonishing even him with its steadiness. "It was Gabriella's choice to stay at Stanford, tonight. And… it's my choice to be here." His eyes shift to Ryan, lingering, and he thinks he may be starting to understand why. "With you."

Ryan breaks into a wide smile, his eyes sparking with an intense joy that sends a trill of delight coursing through Troy's veins and dancing down his spine.

Troy can't help but reciprocate, and it hits him that this is his first genuine smile in two days.

"I guess I can stick around for at least one more cup of punch," Kelsi says, the corners of her mouth twitching into the makings of a smile.

Troy's smile morphs into a small grin, and Ryan gives Kelsi a soft, affectionate look.

"For what it's worth, Kelsi, I really am sorry," Ryan murmurs.

"I know you are," Kelsi says, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

Troy doesn't think that it's right to ask- if he deserves to know, he's sure one of them will fill him in, later- but the conflict between his two dear friends seems to be resolved, and that's enough to ease the tension that has been twisting his stomach since Gabriella's end of the line went silent.

"After we graduate," Ryan says, raising his arm as if he intends to touch Kelsi's shoulder in a friendly manner, only to drop the limb back to his side in his usual endearingly awkward way. "I know you're going to meet a sweet, intelligent, gorgeous guy who thinks the _world_ of you. And… he'll actually be attracted to girls."

Kelsi smiles in spite of herself, and gives Ryan a playful nudge.

Ryan ducks his head as his mouth quirks into a smile.

More weight eases off of Troy's chest and shoulders.

"And, Troy…"

Troy turns to Ryan, his heart skipping a beat.

"Just so you know, Gabriella is the one missing out." Ryan's soft features glow with a deep-rooted affection that makes Troy's insides feel like they're melting, before adding, "Because you look…" Pink colors his porcelain cheeks as he finishes, gesturing wonderstruck in Troy's direction, "Absolutely stunning."

Heat rushes to flood Troy's face.

Kelsi's eyes flicker between them, a knowing gleam stealing into their turquoise depths. Before Troy can raise a bashful hand to the back of his neck and stammer out an explanation, Kelsi rolls her eyes, lets out an affectionate laugh, and grabs both Troy and Ryan by the hand, pulling them toward the gym.

 

\---------------------------------

 

After Ryan fixes her makeup, Kelsi shares a dance with Troy, then winds up jumping and bouncing around in a group composed of Martha, Taylor, and to Troy and Ryan's shared surprise, Sharpay.

As the girls' giddy laughter rises over the music, Troy turns to Ryan where the two of them are seated on the sidelines, two half-full cups of punch on the table beside them. "So."

"So?" Ryan asks.

"Guess we're both dateless now, huh?"

Ryan meets him with a dry smile, his hands fiddling with the buttons on his waistcoat. "I guess we are."

Troy takes a moment to inhale deeply in an attempt to calm his racing heart,  then ventures, "You know, we don't have to be."

Ryan's head snaps toward him. His eyes stretch wide with incredulity, and _hope._

Hope flaring, almost painfully, in his own core, Troy rises out of his chair and offers his hand to Ryan, like he did months before.

Ryan's eyes pour over Troy's face, searching it intently, then he lifts his hand and slides it into Troy's waiting palm.

His skin tingling, Troy closes his fingers around Ryan's cool, silk-smooth, familiar appendage, and leads him wordlessly to a private area behind the tree decoration set up in the center of the floor.

Martha, the head of the prom-committee, had, for some reason that evades Troy, decided that the tree would help establish an atmosphere befitting of the prom's fantasy theme of, "The Last Waltz". Troy isn't certain if it does, but he's grateful for and appreciative of the other purpose the decoration serves; shielding him and Ryan from prying eyes, and allowing them to enter their own world.

The music for the next song kicks in; a synth-pop number that holds all of the essence of the 80s.

Troy takes the opening notes as his cue to bring Ryan in close, interlacing their fingers with his left hand, and placing his right hand on the outer curve of Ryan's hip. His chest tightens and he tries to steady himself, even as the floor feels as though it's falling away beneath his feet.

"Are you nervous?" Ryan asks softly. He peers into Troy's eyes, guiding him in a perfectly timed side-step.

"A little bit." A smile tugs at Troy's mouth as his abdomen clenches with nerves. He has to look like such a _dork_ and _novice_ next to such a polished performer.

"Don't be." Ryan uses his left hand, which rests on Troy's shoulder, to deliver a reassuring squeeze to Troy's bicep. All at once, his sky blue eyes and candied pink lips are more enticing than they have ever been before.

Troy almost stumbles as he counters Ryan's steps. He's all too aware of the warmth of Ryan's skin, and the sweet scent emanating from his skin, and _very_ conscious of his heartbeat speeding up like he's just completed a mile run.

Hand brushing Troy's cheekbone, Ryan assures him, his voice low, tantalizing, "You've got this."

The combination of the certainty backing Ryan's words, and the lyrics of the song attempting to motivate him to leave his fears and insecurities behind, breaks down the final barrier and convinces Troy to let his doubts fall away. Pulling Ryan in, he spins both of them across the floor.

On the spot, Ryan invents a routine that matches the rhythm and tempo, his skill as a choreographer undeniable, and Troy follows along, not needing words or instructions. It's intuitive, natural.

Easy.

Ryan is easy to dance with.

By the time the song picks up, the dance moves that Gabriella had skipped class in order to teach Troy on the school's rooftop have been long forgotten. But, that doesn't matter. Ryan's style of dancing is very different from Gabriella's.

Perhaps he's even easier to dance with than she is.

Palms touching, Troy and Ryan step around one another in a circle, then Troy takes hold of Ryan's hand and twirls him in until he rests in his arms, his back warm against Troy's chest.

They recreate the swing-step that Troy stumbled onto Ryan demonstrating for Gabriella, and Troy is so caught up in the music, the moment, caught up in _Ryan_ , a wide grin breaks out on his face, and peals of laughter ascend from his throat.

Ryan joins in, his laugh light, almost melodic.

Another maneuver, and Troy draws Ryan into him, so close, their hips meet. Terrific pleasure shoots through his body, leaving the tips of his fingers tingling. He leans in just enough that the tip of his nose just grazes Ryan's. He feels each light breath Ryan draws and expels puffing against his mouth, knows if he just tipped his face forward, tilted his nose to the side, he could…

"See?" Ryan's eyes glow brightly with pride, and a certain other emotion that Troy has never seen in the liquid depths of Gabriella's chocolate brown eyes, no matter how hard he's wished to find it. "What did I tell you?"

Spellbound, Troy continues to stare at the fair face of Ryan; his friend, his _prom date_. "Yeah," he breathes. "You were right, Ryan."

About _so many things_.

"Ryan?"

"Yes?"

"There's… There's something that I need to do. Will you… Come with me?"

A wave of relief washes over Troy, setting down roots in his chest, when Ryan's light, lovely voice answers, "Of course."

 

 -------------------------

 

Ryan stares at Troy's truck, his brows arching at the state of the vehicle.

Troy takes in his companion's expression and feels his face heating and his insides writhing with shame. At one point during the previous evening, he had actually seriously considered driving the rusty pickup that, though he loves it dearly, has required near-constant maintenance to keep it running, one thousand _fifty-three_ miles to Stanford University.

To Gabriella.

His first girlfriend, his first relationship, the person who saw the real him.

And, the person who shut him out, refused to communicate, threw their plans aside at the last minute, leaves him over and over and over...

"I have a quick phone call to make," Troy announces, his voice quaking.

Ryan eyes him. Concern tugs at the arches of his neatly groomed eyebrows, and Troy forces himself to look like his insides aren't being ravaged and torn apart by a fearsome tempest. "Alright." His tone is dubious, but, slowly, Ryan nods and takes a polite step to the side.

Aware of Ryan's perturbed, questioning gaze trained on him, Troy scrolls through the list of contacts stored in his phone until he comes to _hers_.

He's memorized her number after the year and a half they've been together, but if he had to dial in each digit manually, Troy is sure that that he would lose the courage to do what needs to be done.

His heart is clenched in a vise during each agonizingly slow ring. _Come on. Pick up!_ a part of him pleads.

Another, greater part of him, is almost _afraid_ to hear her voice.

Because, once she starts to speak to him, he'll never be able to get the words that he needs to say out. He'll lose the nerve and his speech will wither and die, silenced forever as Gabriella's honeyed girlish voice reels him back in.

The final ring seems to stretch on for two solid minutes. At last, he hears a sigh, then, "What is it, Troy? You shouldn't be calling me."

Heart in his throat, his hands trembling, Troy tries to summon speech. "I… " He swallows, his saliva dropping onto his stomach with the force of a punch from Bruce Lee. "Have something I need to say."

Gabriella's end of the line is dead silent, but he can hear the words she used to terminate their relationship, discard everything they had worked for, echoing in his mind; _"I don't think I can do it, Troy… I think I've run out of goodbyes. I love you, Wildcat. But, I need to stay right where I am."_

Then Ryan's voice chimes in, like a glinting silver blade slicing through a dense fog, _"That sounds pretty selfish."_

Finally, _finally_ , the concept hits home.

Troy's stomach steels with sudden resolve. "When you called me to say 'goodbye', that was something you decided to do. It was your decision, not mine. My choices, my feelings, weren't factored in."

"It took me two whole weeks to adjust to life away from East High," Gabriella says, her tone defensive, _cutting_. " _You_ didn't have to--"

His meticulously fortified, all too fragile resolve starts to crumble, but Troy tightens his grip on the phone and perseveres. "L-Let me finish. _Please_."

Gabriella gives a quiet huff in protest, but there's a window of opportunity, and Troy seizes it.

"I never wanted things to end up like this. I wanted us to last. But, you decided for the both of us that wasn't meant to be. And… " His voice quavers, the phone pressing into his cheek, and his knees shake with enough intensity to a bring a very concerned Ryan rushing to his side.

Ryan's eyes search Troy's face. His lips part like he intends to say something, and his hand reaches for Troy's cellphone before he retracts it.

A rush of warmth floods Troy's chest. Ryan is looking out for him. Ryan wants to protect him.

Ryan supports _him_.

And, that knowledge is enough to draw the words out of his throat. "I need to start making my own choices, too. So I'm going to start, now. You went your own way, Gabriella. I have to go mine, too. Even if it--" _Hurts_. He almost chokes on the lump in his throat. "Even if I have no idea what that is, right now." 

Hot tears blur Troy's vision. He blinks them away, sending them trailing down his cheeks, to find Ryan standing in front of him.

A pillar of support. The best friend who has been beside him all along, even when he didn't notice.

Without a moment's hesitation, Troy does what feels right, and lets himself reach for Ryan's hand.

"I said I was a lot better at goodbyes than you," Gabriella says softly.

"I know. Good luck at Stanford."

Troy hears the familiar click, and the line goes dead. He ends the call before the dial tone can kick in.

As he closes his phone, his heart aches numbly in the hollow cavity of his chest. He can feel the bond between him and Gabriella severed definitively, like a thread cut in half; unable to be taped, sewn, or glued back together.

A hand squeezes his ever so gently. "Are you going to be okay?" Ryan asks, his voice as light and gentle as the pressure of his hand around Troy's, his eyes deep blue pools of and brow-line crinkled with concern.

Troy nods. "Yeah. I…" He runs his free hand through his hair, and wills himself to believe, "I will be. Eventually."

"You don't need her, you know," Ryan says sincerely. "You never did."

_You're the only one who would say that_ , Troy thinks.

"And, whatever you're meant to be, I _know_ it's something amazing."

Troy searches Ryan's eyes, and nothing but pure, wholehearted conviction is what he finds there. "Thank you," he breathes, his throat tight.

Ryan dips his head, his eyes shining and lips quirking into the tiniest hint of a smile. "I was merely stating the truth."

"Well…" Troy tightens his hold on Ryan's hand, slipping his fingers into the spaces between each pale digit. "I'm pretty sure I've got someone who will be right there beside me until I figure things out."

Ryan looks to Troy, his eyes full of love, want, and uncertainty.

So, Troy provides Ryan with reassurance.

He takes hold of Ryan's other hand and leans in until his forehead touches Ryan's beneath the brim of his hat. Being this close to Ryan feels natural and right; familiar and new. The start of something amazing.

Ryan melts into Troy, his lovely, brilliant smile working its way across his face, and enveloping Troy's heart in a wonderful warmth that chases out the icy numbness and brings a complementary smile that spreads across Troy's face, with it.  

_You know I'll catch you through it all._

Perhaps Gabriella won't return such a showcasing of devotion. But, Ryan?

Troy knows that he doesn't even have to ask.

It will take time for him to figure out just what his own dreams are, but having someone to provide him with unconditional love and support along the way, is an excellent place to start.

 

 

 

\-- Fin.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The song that Troy and Ryan dance to is "What A Feeling", by Irene Cara.


End file.
